


Ineluctable

by Acai



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempts, Karkat POV, M/M, Mostly hurt, Panic, Sadstuck, Second person POV, Some Fluff, Some Plot, implied characters, just a little bit of fluff, no use of names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he gets sad.</p><p>Sometimes he texts you late at night and it’s just two words.</p><p>TG: kinda sad</p><p>Sometimes you don’t see it right away—sometimes you get home and check your phone and see a message from him, and those times are terrifying to you. Those are the times that you text back the fastest and feel aching fear while you wait, because what if you were too late to say anything this time? What if this time it wasn’t just ‘kinda sad’, it was ‘so sad I want to die’?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ineluctable

**Author's Note:**

> I think a lot of times when people write about a relationship where one person is hurting they focus so much on the feelings of the character that's hurting that the interactions with the other become unrealistic. A lot of times people forget that in a relationship like the ones they're writing about there's two people, I've never stumbled upon a fic like that, though, so I bestow upon you my rant. [[Added note: The perfect mood music to this is Jaden Smith's Blue Ocean V19.]]

Sometimes he gets sad.

Sometimes he texts you late at night and it’s just two words.

TG: kinda sad

Sometimes you don’t see it right away—sometimes you get home and check your phone and see a message from him, and those times are terrifying to you. Those are the times that you text back the fastest and feel aching fear while you wait, because what if you were too late to say anything this time? What if this time it wasn’t just ‘kinda sad’, it was ‘so sad I want to die’?

You wish that you could brush off those worries, tell yourself that he’ll be fine. Sometimes you wish you were being stupid—that you could tell yourself _of course he’s fine! Stop overreacting!_

You aren’t, though, and you know it. The most terrifying part is that there are times that you’re there, that you’re talking. There are times that you message him on your laptop and he replies, but the replies are subdued. There are times where he tells you he can’t keep doing it. There are times when he says that and he stops replying. There are times that you’re more afraid than you’ve ever been. There are times when you keep sending him messages.

_I love you._

_You mean so much to me._

_I wish I could help._

_It’s hard, it hurts, but you can do it._

_Breathe for me?_

_I love you._

_I care about you._

_I love you._

_You mean the world to me._

_You deserve the world._

_It’ll be over someday, but today is not that day._

_Please reply._

_I love you._

_Please._

There are times that you stare at the computer forever in an agonizing eternity. There are times that you’re _terrified_ he won’t reply. There are times that you’re scared you’ll never talk again.

Those moments—they’re the worst. Because those are the moments that you think the most. The moments where you feel like typing in, _good bye,_ instead of _good night,_ just in case.

He replies.

You feel like sobbing.

He tells you he would’ve done it.

You tell him it’ll be alright. The words sound fake and overused.  

He tells you that he would’ve done it. He tells you he couldn’t.

You know he doesn’t mean that he couldn’t do it because he didn’t want to—you know he means someone found out and stopped in. That hurts more, not because he didn’t want to keep going (you already know he doesn’t want to), but because _someone saw and didn’t care._ You know he was home. You know his family didn’t care.

That hurts.

You feel selfish.

He doesn’t want to keep going. You’re not sad because of that right now. Right now you’re happy. You’re happy he’s still here. You feel selfish for that.

 

You text him a lot.

You text him whenever you can. When you’re at home you Skype him for hours, when you’re at school you sneak little messages under the desk.

You’re terrified even then.

You’re _so scared of losing him to his own hands._

Is that selfish?

You worry a lot.

Sometimes he seems alright, sometimes you text and he jokes with you and sends you funny pictures. Sometimes you text him a heart and he sends you one right back.

Sometimes you want to ask how he is, how his day went, how he’s feeling.

You don’t, not usually. You worry about what would happen if you did. Would you make him start thinking about things, would you make him sad? Would you set him off?

Is it selfish, not to ask how he is, simply because of your own reasons?

You would do anything for him—you would do anything to make him happy.

You love it when he laughs. You love it when you see him smiling.

It’s not much—you live hundreds of miles apart. When you FaceTime he usually just puts his camera on the ground. You do the same, usually, but you know he loves seeing your face, too. He tells you lots.

And when he talks, he talks softly at first. When he talks, he gets louder as he goes. Sometimes it takes a while before you can turn your volume down from 100% so you can hear him, but when you can and he starts laughing it’s worth the wait.

His laugh makes you laugh, and it’s so cliché and overused, but you _love_ his laugh. His laugh makes your chest swell up with something you can’t identify and you can’t help but giggle because _goddamn does he have a nice laugh._

When he texts you those two words, when he texts you those six words you dread,

_I’m not feeling so great right now,_

You tell him that’s fine, it’s okay to feel sad, you’re there for him.

You want to be there with him so badly, you want to tell him that _it’ll be okay someday._

You can’t.

You’re stuck miles apart.

That’s fine.

You’ll keep texting him every day, you’ll keep Skyping every night.

You’ll keep telling him you care.

You’ll keep telling him you love him.

Whenever you talk and he sends you a photo you always feel that swell in your chest, that happy feeling.

Your eyes sweep over the photo, over the sunglasses planted over his eyes and over his hair and his face and his shirt and you minimize the photo and reply like it’s not a big deal.

Sometimes you scroll up just to see it again.

There are times that you forget that he’s unhappy. There are times that you spend hours talking and texting and there are times that you spend so long texting and the conversation is so perfect that you _forget_ to worry about him.

There are times that the sadness comes out of nowhere.

There are times where everything is okay.

There are times when it suddenly isn’t.

There are times that the fear hits you out of nowhere.

There are times that you type him long paragraphs trying to tell him that it’s _alright,_ that you _care about him so much,_ that you’d do anything to make him feel better.

There are times that you’re desperate to be able to make him happy, there are times that you want nothing more than to be able to give him the longest hug of his life and tell him that you _care so fucking much._

You can say it as many times as you want, you never feel like it’s enough.

You can spend your whole life trying to find a way to let him know that you care about him so much that it makes you ache when he’s upset.

You can spend your whole life piecing together words in the form of poetry, but in the end it’ll all just sound like a metaphor for the wrong thing.

You can’t ever think of a good enough way to tell him that you adore everything about him, that everything about him makes you grin. That every jokes he tells makes you laugh and every heart he sends you makes you smile and every time you talk it makes you feel the happy swell.

_You aren’t even sure if he’s aware._

You aren’t sure if he _knows_ how much you care about him.

You aren’t sure if he _knows_ how much you long to be able to tell him something that’ll chase the sadness away.

You’d do anything to let him know.

You’d do anything to make him aware of how much you care.

For now asking him to breathe for you will have to be enough.

For now, telling him you care and hoping he understand will have to be enough.

For now, telling him you love him and hoping he knows will have to be enough.

For now, telling him good night and hoping he knows that means _you’ll talk in the morning_ will have to be enough.

For now, you’ll just have to keep telling him little things that could mean so much, and hoping he knows just what you’re trying to tell him will have to be enough.

There are times that he tells you he can’t do it.

There are times that you tell him that he’s strong.

There are times that he tells you that he’s in _such a bad place._

You know. You always know. You always wish you could just stand up and go bring him someplace better.

You always wish you could bring him someplace good and kind and wonderful and where you could give him a _real hug, dammit,_ and not just a virtual one.

You always wish that when you watched a movie you could just watch on the same screen rather than syncing two from different places to watch at the same time.

You can’t.

Telling him you care will have to be enough for now.

When he tells you that he can’t do it you grow more terrified each time.

You grow scared about things that you can’t control.

You can’t do anything from where you are—you can tell him you’re there for him and that he’s strong as many times as you want.

In the end all he has to do is shut his laptop.

When that happens, what can you do?

You can’t do anything.

You try anyway, each time.

You send him anything you can think of that’ll help even just a little. You send him little _I love you_ ’s and little _I care so much_ ’s and even littler _There’s so many people who care_ ’s.

When he stops replying you keep talking.

You type faster, you tell him everything.

You tell him anything.

You tell him that it’s hard and that it’s looking hopeless.  
You tell him it’s not hopeless.

You tell him it’s hard but he’s strong and you’re there.

You bring up others, other people who you both talk to and people who would be _so upset if_ he disappeared one day.

Selfishly, you think you’re doing this for yourself.

Selfishly, you think you’re reassuring him so that he’ll stay and so that you won’t have to be without him.

Selfishly, you think that _you’ll_ miss him the most out of those friends.

Why do you think that?

Why are you thinking that?

 

In the end he always replies. In the end it’s short. In the end he’ll tell you he doesn’t have a way to try again.

In the end he goes to bed, and you stay up.

You shake, fists gripping your laptop.

How many times will this happen?

How many times will it be ‘that was close’?

How many times will it be ‘that was lucky’?

How many times until it’s not ‘that was close’?

How many times until he won’t reply.

How many times when you’ll be left without him?

How many times until you won’t ever watch a movie together again?

How many times until your words _aren’t enough?_

**Author's Note:**

> I literally crave your comments, so tell me what you thought and if there's any spelling errors.  
> There will be a day that I stop writing sadstuck, but that day is not today.  
> Until then, check out some of my other stories and tell me what you thought down below. Thank you all <3


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